Le Marais
by stuckinabottle
Summary: In which a pessimistic Harry is working in a Shop in Paris, the City of Love. Then, Harry meets a most interesting and nostalgic customer. ?/H


Le Marais

Summary: In which pessimistic Harry is in the City of Love, Paris. Then Harry meets a most interesting and nostalgic customer.

Author's Note: This story is based off of "Le Marais" meaning the Marshland from the award winning picture "Paris, Je T'Aime".

Disclaimer: Harry and other affiliated characters do not belong to me..ehehe

Word Count: 2430

_Spoken French – is italicised_

Spoken English is regular.

* * *

It had been Harry's own idea to come to France, Paris to be exact. He did not even have a lucid reason to. He could not speak a word of French nor did he understand much of it. But a new country provided an escape, from both the peering eyes of the Ministry and everyone else. The French wizarding community was not bothered by the woes of the English one. Hell, half of them did not even know who he was. The Famous Harry Potter could just be Harry, plain Harry. Thus far he had not been in the spotlight, of which he was relieved.

He currently worked in a Muggle printing shop that also served as an artwork gallery. The quiet little shop was located in the IVéme arrondissement. The Muggle who owned the shop was a kind, jolly sort of man. He was always friendly and thank heavens, the man, Pierre, could speak English. Broken English but nevertheless Harry appreciated Pierre's attempts. The man had put Harry to work without any questions. And surprisingly after nine years of being a part of the wizarding world, Harry found that he quite liked doing things the Muggle way. Harry mostly just did manual labor, basic things. Moving heavy stuff was the only way to describe it. Eve so he felt accomplished that he could help someone without the use of magic or his mother's love.

Harry ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. If it was even possible his hair had grown longer and more wild. It now effectively hid his lightening bolt shaped scar, for which he was immensely relieved. His glasses were new as well. They were smaller but still same childish round shape. He was the new Harry. This was the only way that Harry could think of to reinvent himself. After the war, Harry had despised himself. Immersing himself in culture of another country, or at least attempting, let Harry be whatever he chose to be. Harry relished being a normal person. He did not have to save the world and nobody expected anything from him.

Harry was currently on his lunch break. He sat in the back and listened as cars drove by and the sound that was Paris. Boredom was common now that the war was over. Despite hating being bored, Harry actually enjoyed the peace that regular life brought. Harry was relaxed, maybe not happy but contented with his new lifestyle.

He slouched further into the wooden chair in which he sat. The table in front of him was worn and reminded him of the battered tables at the Leaky Cauldron or the Three Broomsticks even. He drummed his callused fingers on the table and sighed. He traced each of the grooves in the table's woodwork. The grooves led to a different path each time. Sometimes the grooves intersected with one another and became one. Sometimes they did not.

"_Bonjour!_" Pierre said to a man and his accompanying woman who had just entered the shop. The man had pale blond hair that was swept away from his face and stormy grey eyes that seemed to contain a world within them. Harry felt himself grow nervous as he watched the blond man through the window that separated the shop from the back room. The man looked remarkably like the notorious Draco Malfoy. Harry had heard rumors about his former school mate that had some how leaked from England to France. Malfoy was currently on the market looking for a wife was what Harry had gathered. Pierre led the couple into the back workshop where Harry happened to be sitting. Harry stared at his hands now folded in his lap. Refusing to allow his gaze to wander anywhere near the blond and who he assumed was his girlfriend.

"_Pourriez-vous nous apporter du vin?_" Pierre asked him, smiling. Harry bit his tongue and obeyed. He did not wish to go anywhere close to the blond and his girlfriend. With his head down he scurried to procure a bottle of wine. This customer must have been special. Pierre only brought wine out to the best of customers. The blond placed a painting on the worktable. The woman suddenly appeared at the table. She was also blond. She placed a delicate hand on the blond man's back and rubbed slow circles. Harry felt something he could not name bubble bizarrely in his chest.

"So…." the woman began, "Let's take a look." The blond man unsheathed the masterpiece and placed it on the work table. The woman stared intently and smiled. Harry watched at the scene unfolding as he poured three glasses of wine. His hand shook and he prayed he would not spill any.

"I like it! There's a lot of red. Kind of blood red. Let's keep the red, it definitely gives the right feel," the woman murmured. She looked up at the blond man for approval. His gaze was upon the painting. He nodded slowly in approval.

"_Elle dit qu'il faut qu'on ait la même rouge," _the blond translated. His melodious voice seemed to echo in Harry's ears. It was light, airy; although Harry unsure of what exactly the man was saying, it sounded beautiful. Pierre nodded, still deep in thought. While they continued to deliberate over the painting and its frame; Harry nervously walked up to the blond. With a shaking hand he handed the man a glass of wine. The corners of the blond's mouth turned up in a half smile, before he turned back to his conversation. Harry felt the man's eyes on him several times prior to disappearing from the blond's view entirely.

Harry walked away feeling slightly dejected but resumed his position at the wooden table. Harry found himself watching the blond hungrily as he removed his black leather jacket to reveal fitted white oxford. The man rolled his sleeves half up. His skin was milky and pale dusted with a few blond hairs here and there. After some deliberation Pierre and the blond woman walked into another room to try and find the color chip the blond man so wanted. The blond began to follow them, drinking his wine, but then he stopped. The man's eyes perused the shop and finally landed on Harry.

The blond man slowly walked over to Harry and gave him a look of interest. Harry committed to staring at his hands. The blond man came to the edge of the table and placed his hands on the edges. He then cleared his throat.

"_Est-ce qu'on se connait? Je suis positif que je vous connais. Je vous ai vu quelque part. __Où habitez-vous? J'habite au 17éme arrondissement. __Vous semblez si familier, je peux pas commencer à le décrire," _the man said, staring intently at Harry. Harry fiddled with the unlit cigarette in his hand and did not permit himself to look up at the blond god in front of him. (1)

"_Peut-etre je vous ai vu là…mais c'est Paris…donc on ne sait jamais!_" he continued, grasping his palms together. Harry maintain his silence. The blond grinned or smirked. Harry spared a glance upwards. The man should have been carved out of stone and exalted. His eyes were so full of intensity and his hair was perfect. The strip of skin that was exposed near the man's collar bone looked to be made of marble. Harry felt as if he was staring at a statue of a Greek god at the Louvre.

"_Je vois que vous ne parlez pas beaucoup…_" the blond mused. He turned around in a slow circle attempting find words. Harry watched the man apprehensively.

"_Je ne suis pas sure mais…je me sens comme je vous ai vu déjà. Vous avez, je sais pas l'air mystérieux. Drôlement vous avez une aura spéciale …Croyez-vous aux esprits et aux fantômes ? __Je suis totalement intéressé par ce genre des choses__. Peut-etre on se connait dans une vie alternative. __Un feu ?" _the man asked Harry, holding out a lighter.

Unfortunately Harry had taken up the horrible habit of smoking while in France. Most people did, Harry didn't see why he couldn't; it calmed him down. He braced himself mentally as the blond leaned forward with his lighter. The man's hands were like the rest of him, beautiful. He shivered and wished he could touch them. The man lit the end of his cigarette. Harry imagined feeling the rush of nicotine to his lungs as he inhaled.

"_Merci_," Harry mumbled inaudibly, quickly looking down.

Harry did not understand why the man had decided to talk to him. This man, who looked so like Draco Malfoy, was stunningly beautiful. Harry wondered why he was talking to plain, ordinary, old Harry. This man, this blond man was nothing like Malfoy, he was sort of whimsical. A Muggle most likely, but even so his presence was magical.

"_C'est incroyable! Dès que je vous ai vu, je sais dont j'avais besoin parler avec vous. C'est comme…je ne suis pas sure un sentiment étrange, bizarre, vous savez ? J'ai pensé que si nous ne parlons pas avant de partir …je manquerais quelque chose…quelque chose d'important. Beau. Vous savez que vous travaillez dans un endroit beau__," _the man said peering around the room. His face was inscrutable. Harry supposed the blond was making fun of him. Then the blond man walked towards the window and peered in at Harry. It was almost as if the blond was a child, just playing a game with him. The man took a long sip of wine. Harry watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and then back down. Even a part of the man that simple, seemed divine.

The blond man walked towards Harry and began, "_Je ne voudrais pas manquer la chance de vous parler_, _C'est stupide mais…ca n'a pas d'importance. Puis-je_?" He motioned to the chair across from Harry.

Harry said something incoherent and fastidiously nodded his head. The man sat down wine still in hand. He took a long slip and then proceeded to lick his lips. Harry felt strangely warm. The bubbling in his stomach increased. He stared deep into Harry's green eyes and a strange smirk appeared on his face. Even though Harry felt unsettled and uncomfortable, he could not help but stare back into the man's smoldering gray eyes.

"_Croyez-vous aux _'soul mates'. _Un peu comme trouver votre moitié__?"_

His stare burned into Harry. Harry said nothing but shivered. The man had just said "soul mates" in English, all else still in French. This man was making Harry feel so naïve, so ignorant. It was as if Harry knew nothing at all. He could not speak; he did not even think he could speak English. Harry had never thought about such things. Soul mates, even the thought was foreign to Harry. He had never given much thought to being married or having a girl friend. He had realized after the war that he loved Ginny as he would imagine he would a sister. Having her as a girlfriend had been more a convenience than anything else. She made his life simpler. He was never plagued by too many screaming girls; everyone thought he was to marry Ginny.

The man picked up on Harry's obvious discomfort. He smiled warmly at Harry in an attempt to reassure him. "_Aimez-vous le jazz_? _Comme Charlie Parker et Kurt Cobain? __Je les aime! Ehh, vous savez…_" the blond man trailed off.

Harry said nothing again. The man looked around briefly and grabbed a scrap of paper from the table. He scribbled something on it and handed it to Harry. Harry took it and shivered. Their fingers had met. A brief, infinitesimal touch and Harry confirmed that he knew nothing of real life. He wanted to know more. Against his all of his judgment Harry had a deep longing to touch the man again, but more intimately. The bubbling in his stomach felt as if it was about to boil over.

"_C'est mon numéro de téléphone cellulaire. Je voudrais vous parler si vous me téléphonez….plus sérieusement et pour un temps plus long__, __Show romanization__un_ _beaucoup plus longtemps__. Encore je m'excuse d'avoir été si cavalier. Je me sens, bien sûr, j'ai déjà vous dire !" _

The man grinned and winked at him. Harry flushed deep red and sank further into his chair. Harry's mind was spinning but Pierre and the woman entered into the room breaking the awkward silence that had surrounded the two men. Harry stared wistfully at the blond man as he gathered his belongings preparing to leave.

"Honey," the blond woman called, "I've got it. We have another appointment now, but thank you so much Pierre!" the woman cooed and grabbed the blond man's arm.

"_Ouais, je le sais, on y va Mlle. Astoria." _The blond man spared Harry one last fleeting glance and guided the woman to the door. The woman frowned a bit and smacked the man gently.

"Stop speaking in French! You know I can't understand it," she griped. The blond man just smirked.

"_Bon voyage!"_ Pierre saluted the blond man and the woman. The two left the shop leaving Harry more than confused. He grasped his jet black hair and shook his head.

"What's wrong?" Pierre asked him, worry evident in his wise brown eyes. He had walked over to Harry's side.

"I'm not sure, he gave me this…" Harry explained, showing him the phone number the man had scrawled on the small slip of paper. Pierre took the paper from Harry and chuckled lightly.

"His phone number?_" _Pierre's eyebrows went up. Harry just nodded.

"I didn't understand what he was saying…you know I don't speak French that well. He used a lot of phrases that were not in my phrase book…" Harry sighed to his boss, holding up a copy of "French for Dummies".

"Call him and see, then. That's your only shot. Here his address. But I believe he went that way," Pierre handed him back the slip of paper, pointing a direction. He gave him a small wink and patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. Harry nodded. Pierre smiled and walked away. Harry glanced out the window. He headed for the door.

"_Bonne chance_!" Pierre called after him. Harry flashed Pierre a grin and threw off his jacket. Harry began running. Even though he didn't know his name. Even though the man looked just liked Draco Malfoy. Something inside of him had opened up. The bubbling had stopped it was all clear to Harry now. That blond man believed insoul mates. Maybe Harry should too.

* * *

Notes: so sorry for putting the blond man's lines en Français. A good question is who is the blond man? Is it Malfoy? Who knows…

1 – The 17th arrondissements there are 20 in Paris.

The link to the short video is on my profile. It's about five minute

* * *

English Translation 

Haven't we met? I'm positive I know you. Where do you live? I'm in the 17th

Perhaps I've seen you around there

I see you don't talk very much

I'm not really sure but… I feel like I've seen you before. You look like a mysterious kind of guy. Truly you have a special aura…Do you believe in spirits and fate? I'm totally into that kind of stuff. Maybe we met in another past life. Light…a light?

It's incredible. As soon as I saw you I just knew I needed to talk to you. It's like…I'm not quite sure a strong, weird feeling. I thought, if I don't talk to you before I go…I'd be missing out on…something…something important. Beautiful. You know you work in a beautiful place you know

I didn't want to miss the chance to speak with you. It's dumb but…never mind. May I?

Umm, you believe in soul mates? Kind of like finding your other half?

Do you like uh jazz? Like Charlie Parker and Kurt Cobain? I love him! Umm, you know

Here's my cell number. I'd really love to talk with you if you call me…more seriously and for a longer time really


End file.
